


Ruthie

by t_10



Category: Original Work
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Games, Rape, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 12:29:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17508659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_10/pseuds/t_10
Summary: Warning: dark and depressing





	1. Chapter 1

The sky overhead is a great expanse of grey; it’s one of those days  where it’s cloudy, but it doesn’t seem to rain. I walk home in silence, the only sounds being that of the gravel crunching beneath my sneakers and my keys jingling in my hand as I twirl them. I take the same shortcut through the railroad tracks I take everyday to get to my house across town. It’s a half hour long walk, which is absolutely awful in the winter when it’s almost freezing, and even worse in the summer when it’s boiling. The narrow path through the woods the train tracks were on suddenly opened up into a desolate street. That’s how I know I’m about halfway there. I let out a sigh.

    Most of the kids at my school’s parents can afford to buy them fancy new cars and fancy smartphones. My mother hasn’t even taught me how to drive yet. She’s always working, and when she’s not working, she’s sleeping, or going on dates with various men. Luckily, she never brings them near the house, so I don’t have to deal with them. My relationship with my mother is shaky; we argue a lot. She insists I look like my father, who ran off when I was young, though I don’t see it. I feel as though I resemble my mother more: The same curly black hair and button nose, the same petit figure and soft features. It’s the eyes, she always says, that make me look like my father. Icy blue, like a frozen lake in the winter. I don’t remember him well enough to know whether my mom is truthful or not. 

    The sound of a car behind me pulls me from my thoughts. There usually isn’t anyone on this road, so I’m a little surprised. I quickly move to the side of the road to get out of the way, but then the car just stops. I turn around to see a beat-up old minivan, with a man hanging out the driver’s window. He looks to be in his upper-thirties, lower-forties, with a full head of greying brown hair and sharp facial features.

    “Hey!” he greets and gestures for me to come closer. I get a strange feeling in my gut, but I choose to ignore it. I walk up to him without a word. “You live around here?” he asks. I nod. “Good, I was hoping you could help me out.” He steps out of the car, holding a map in his hands. “See, I’m trying to see my daughter, and I have no idea where I am.”

    I gaze at the map, but don’t see any familiar landmarks. It dawns on me that this wasn’t even a map of my city, but before I can do anything, a wet cloth is abruptly pressed up to my mouth. Instinctively, I begin to thrash, but a sturdy hand continues to hold the cloth. Before I know it, everything is beginning to go dark around the edges, and I go limp in the strangers arms. 

 

I come to somewhere soft, knowledge of my previous encounter forgotten momentarily. My eyes flutter open and I take in my surroundings. Pastel pink walls, plush carpet, and white furniture illuminated by a nightlight in the corner. I’m laying in a bed underneath a peach comforter. If I have to guess, I’d say this is a girl’s bedroom, though I’ve never seen one in real life before. I try to sit up, only to find that my wrists are tied together. I pull at the restraints to test them, but they hold tightly. I look down and see the same rope tied around my ankles. 

    Memories from the desolate street suddenly come flooding back, and I go into panic mode. I have no idea where I am, or how long I’ve been out. I feel my heart rate quicken, my breaths coming out shallowly. I can’t breathe. I begin to thrash, attempting to wriggle out of the restraints, but in the process, I end up falling off the bed and onto the ground with a loud thud.

    I freeze when I hear footsteps begin to approach. The door is thrown open, and I quickly scramble around to get a better view of the figure standing in the doorway.

    “C’mon, now, Ruthie, what’re you doing on the ground like that?” It was the same man that had asked for directions earlier. Who is Ruthie? The man approaches me and begins to pick me up off the ground when I feel my life force returning. I begin to attempt to wriggle out of his grip, making little grunting noises as I do so.

    “Who are you?” I ask, horrified. I’ve been kidnapped, I finally realize, by this man, for the purpose of doing who knows what. 

     The man only laughs at the question. “It’s me silly,” he says, as if that answers everything. “Daddy.” 

    As soon as he lets me go, I go back to thrashing around wildly, until he places a firm hand on my hip. “I have work to do, now, baby. Won’t you behave until I’m finished? Then, we can have playtime.” He flashes a cheery smile that only makes my anxieties worse. 

    “Please untie me,” I practically beg. The ropes are beginning to form burns on my skin the more I try to escape. 

    “If you be good, I will, okay, Ruthie?” 

    Again with that name. 

    “I’m not Ruthie,” I tell him. His expression darkens.

    “C’mon, Ruthie, don’t be like that. Be good while I work. I’ll even bring you a treat afterwards, how does that sound?” 

    I only stare at him, trying my best to glare, but my eyes are glazed over with fear. I watch as he turns and leaves, hearing the door lock behind him. I listen to his footsteps receding, and resume my efforts of trying to get free. This time, I manage to almost get one of my hands free, before I roll off the bed and hit the ground with another crashing thud.

    I hear his footsteps coming towards the room again, only this time louder and much faster. The door is thrown open with more force and viciousness this time. 

    “What did I say Ruthie?!” he barks. I only gaze up at him, as if in a trance. “I said ‘be good, and you’ll get a treat’! But, what have you gone and done?!” I flinch with each syllable he accentuates. 

     “I-I…” I manage to stutter, but can’t seem to form any words. 

    He flies over to me and delivers a kick to my abdomen, making me cry out and curl in on myself. He huffs, before reaching down and throwing me unceremoniously onto the bed. “And, to think, Ruthie, we could have had so much fun if you had just done as you were told.” He sounds genuinely angry. He pulls out a knife, and for a second, my chest seizes up with fear, but he only uses it to cut off the restraints around my ankles. A part of me feels relieved to have more mobility, while another is fearful for what is to come. 

     The fearful part ends up ruling out when he parts my legs and settles between them. “Playtime could have been fun for both of us if you just did as you’re told.” 

    I feel my breath quicken again,  to the point where I’m almost hyperventilating as the man begins to strip me of my jeans, them my underwear. My chest fills with fear, anxiety blooming inside of my lungs. 

    “But, you make it have to be this way, Ruthie,” he sighs, sounding almost disappointed. He unzips his pants and pulls himself out, and I can’t look, I look anywhere but down at him. The little glance I stole only filled my fears. It’s too big, there’s no way this was going to work, I’m going to die-

    An uncomfortable pressure at my entrance alerts me from my worries. This is it, I realize. The uncomfortable pressure is soon replaced by piercing white pain. I don’t realize until after the fact that I started screaming. It hurts, it hurts so much, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. I can’t describe it with words, the pain. Each inch inside he gains causes more tears to spill down my face. It feels like something barbed poking around inside of me as he finally seats himself inside fully. I’m panting hard between sobs. I look down and immediately regret it. Blood is pouring down my thighs, pooling on the bedspread underneath us. How can there be that much blood? He’s lifted my legs into his lap, pulling me closer.

    “No… no more…” I find myself begging in between cries.

    “If you had been good like I said to, this wouldn’t be happening,” he tells me, as if it’s my fault. 

    I feel my consciousness starting to drift, thankfully, and I’m yanked back and forth between painful awareness and blissful rest.


	2. Chapter 2

I am vaguely aware as he finishes, something warm and wet plastering my insides. He pulls out slowly, agonizingly so, and collapses beside me. I feel an arm sling around my midsection and he pulls me closer to him. The action makes me whimper from the pain in my lower regions. It seemed as though any movement set a wave of pain coursing through my nerves.

    “See what happens when you don’t listen, Ruthie?” he asks, as if it’s my fault. “I don't like hurting you.”

    I don’t give a response, and he doesn’t coax one out of me. He just lays there beside me. I realize after a while of listening to steady, even breaths that he’s fallen asleep. A thought of escaping crosses my mind, but my wrists are still bound together and I wouldn’t be able to walk, so I dismiss the thought quickly.

    I try to fall asleep, but the throbbing pain and fear of what is to come floods my body and mind. I can feel the blood and his come beginning to dry, hardening on my thighs. It’s a disgusting feeling that’s almost as prominent as the pain.

    As I lay there, absolutely still, my thoughts begin to run rampant. What’s going to happen to me now? Is he going to kill me? Or keep me to use as a toy forever. I don’t know which thought I fear worse. I don’t want to die, but is a life filled with this really worth living?

    I have no way of telling how much time has passed since I’ve been there; there’s no windows in the bedroom. I could have been out for only hours, or maybe even days. I wonder if my mother has noticed that I’m gone yet. Is she worried? Or has she assumed I’ve just run away? I hope it’s not the latter. I hope she’s gone to the police. I hope I get found.

    The man shifts, pulling me from my thoughts. He presses his face against my hair and inhales deeply. I can practically feel the strange face he makes. I don’t blame him; I probably smell of sweat and raw acrid air of my blood.

     “Let’s have a bath,” he says. I feel a little relief in the idea, to get the hardened mess off of me.

    I stay silent as he shifts, crawling over me and standing beside the bed. He gathers me in his arms and lifts me up, bridal style. He carried me to a door beside the one I’ve seen him enter and exit through, and flicks on the lights. A small bathroom is illuminated. It has cream-colored walls, a porcelain sink, and a large clawfoot tub off to the side. I stay unmoving in his arms as he enters the room and approaches the tub. He sets me down on the edge of it, and I have to shift awkwardly to avoid the aching pain in my bottom. He begins to draw a bath, pouring a generous amount of epsom salts and bubble bath solution into it. I watch as the water starts to submerge the floor, bubbles starting to form in excess.

    He turns his attention to me and unties the restraints around my wrists. Another fleeting though of escape passes through my mind, but I’m still too weak, and dismiss it again. He pulls off my shirt then, too, so I‘m left completely unclothed before him. I suddenly feel self-conscious and curl in on myself. My body is awkward, too small and too thin to belong to a boy. My ribs stick out and the man could easily hold both of my wrists together in one hand. I shudder at the thought.

    He’s the exact opposite, I note, as he begins to undress. He’s tall, muscular with his frame filled well. He waits until the bath finishes, then shuts the water off. He climbs in first, then gestures for me to join him. I do so reluctantly, knowing there is no other choice. As I sink in, I’m positioned between his opened legs, sitting in his lap. I watch as the water begins to become tinted pink with my blood. The water is hot, comfortingly so.

    He puts his arms around my middle and pulls me closer to him. I can feel him beneath me, slowly hardening and I swallow hard. Please not again.

    “Relax, Ruthie,” he says, startling me. “We’ll have playtime later.”

    I don’t relax, but I take a little comfort in the thought that the occurrence would be delayed until a later date.

    He produces a cup from behind him and starts pouring water over my head. I hesitantly close my eyes to protect them from the excess moisture, afraid of what he’ll try when I’m not looking.

    I feel him reach around me and retrieve a bottle of shampoo which he begins to lather in my hair. It smells like green apples. His fingers run through my scalp gently, and I let out an involuntary sigh. Using the cup, he rinses the shampoo out, and runs a hand across my head, almost like a pet. He smiles softly. In the light and up close, I finally get a real look at his face. He has brown eyes so dark they’re almost black. There’s something off-putting about them, like something isn’t quite right.

    “You’re so beautiful, baby,” he tells me. I feel my face heat up at the compliment. He suddenly pulls me closer, into a hug. I tense up immediately, but gradually ease into the hold. He’s so much different now than earlier. Then, his expression was dark, and there was no affection behind his actions. Now, he has a loving expression.

    I flinch when his hand sank lower into the water, trailing up my thigh. I cry out when he brushes against the ruined ring of muscles that make up my rectum, and he quickly apologizes, “Sorry, baby.” He sounds genuinely remorseful, and I can’t suppress the shudder that rolls up my spine. It’s like there are two of him: The caring one and the chaotic one. It sets me on edge. If I do as I’m told, will he always stay the caring one?

    Once he decides he’s finished bathing me, he drains the water. He helps me out, then envelopes me in a soft towel. I stand on wobbly legs, weak from his earlier activities. He starts drying my hair with a second towel vigorously, rocking my body with the amount of force he uses. I feel like a child again, and my mother is done giving me a bath.

    He disappears back into the bedroom, then returns with a bundle of clothes. He sets them on the ground and kneels before me. Even kneeling, he’s almost up to my chest, dwarfing me in size. He instructs me to lift one of my legs, and I do so quaking, with my hands on his shoulders, trying not to fall. A pair of pink panties slide up my legs. He then pulls a sweater over my head, and a lacy blue skirt is secured around my waist. It all fits rather well, which I find a little concerning. Who did these belong to before me?

    He redresses next, pulling on a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. “It’s almost lunch time. Are you hungry?”

    Something about being tied up and raped had dissipated by appetite. I shake my head.

    “Aw, come on… I’ll make your favorite.” He smiles at me, and I’m reminded of a shark’s mischievous grin before it attacks its prey.

    “U-um…” I swallow thickly. “Daddy?” My voice is raspy from screaming only an hour prior.

    “Yes, baby?”

    “When can I go home?”

    His expression darkens. “You are home, Ruthie.”

    I hesitate before speaking again, his eyes throwing me off. But, he’s already hurt me, what more could he do? “No. I’m not Ruthie, and you can’t keep me here.”

    Before I know it, I’m on the floor, laying on my side. Pain flares in my shoulder and my mouth. It takes me a minute to realize what had happened; he had hit me hard enough to knock me to the ground. My face burns from the punch.

    “I don’t want to hear you say things like that.,” he barks. “You’re Ruthie. _My_ Ruthie, and that’s what you’ll be forever.”

    I sit up shakily, my feeling of empowerment moments before now dwindled into nothing. He looms over me, that scary expression prominent on his face.

    “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

    He sighs and reaches down, helping me back to my feet. He pulls aside my bangs and kisses my forehead. “I love you, Ruthie.”


End file.
